No one's little boy
by mimine
Summary: The Lost Boys slash. David and Michael. Not too explicit.


A/N Many years ago I watched the Lost Boys. It was that long ago that me and Wendy, my best friend at the time had chosen which Corey we wanted. She took Haim and I wanted Feldman. Secretly though, even then it had all been about Kiefer Sutherland. Kiefer Sutherland is David, gorgeous creature of the night and Jason Patric is Michael. The ending of the movie sucks, if only Schumacher had been more daring we could have had a cult movie in our hands. As it is, for a movie made in the eighties it still holds pretty well except for the ghastly dresses Dianne Wiest has on and those awful sunglasses Jason Patric spends half the movie wearing. The following is the result of revisiting in DVD the movie that had awed little 13 year old me.

WARNING: This is slash folks, mentions of homoerotic activity and I guess what would be consider intent of child abuse. And an itty bit of drug use. And some het actions mentioned watch out if you're squicked by that sort of thing. Probably won't make much sense if you haven't seen the movie but I wrote it and I had it sitting in my hardrive so I thought, what the hell? You never know. Now perhaps I'll get around to my Fight Club slash. There's this one story that's been in my mind since forever.

Disclaimer: I claim no right to the movie The Lost Boys and its fine characters. I'm not making any money out of this story. I'm just a pathetic slasher with too much free time on my hands.

David

The girl, Star, is bait. She knows it. She thought I loved her at first. When I made her mine in so many ways. We performed every depraved act I'd ever dreamt of. She became my willing slave, not once complaining, accompanying me in my excursions. And she thought I loved her. Silly girl. She doesn't know that I love no one, least of all that pathetic man with the atrocious dress sense who bit a 16 year old boy and tied it to him.

Max says he loves me like a son. Star has cried out she loves me in moments of ecstasy when I put my mouth to good use between her legs. Duane, Paul and Marko stare at me with adoration. Even Laddie, that little urchin we accidentally made one of us has said the l-word to me. We're vampires. It should never be about love with us.

Max had wanted to fuck me, I think. He hides behind his silly suits and ill-fated affairs with one middle-aged divorcée after the other. He always ends up killing them. I've seen the way he looks at me and I don't see fatherly affection there. Not that I would know what to look for. You haven't met my father.

Anyway, Max had wanted to fuck me so he bit me instead. Now I'm just like him. I keep fooling myself into believing I don't miss the light. Into believing that this merry band of bloodsuckers I have founded is my family. Running around on our motorcycles, indulging in nights of debauchery in our sunk Kingdom, feeding on the good people of Santa Carla. I pretend that it's fun.

I did not need Star for Marko and Paul. I had them both. Fucked them and then bit them. At least I didn't pretend it was about anything else like Max. I broke them. I became Marko's God until Paul came into the picture. Then I was all Paul's… Marko had hated him at first but then I guess my rejection brought them together. They think they hide it. They have the decency to do what they do away from Laddie, still treating the suckling vampire as a child. During the day they hang together from the roof of our cave. In each other's arms. It's funny really. And somewhat sad. There are times when I wish I had never had them drink my infested blood but having no one but Max for company was never the plan.

Star came later. A brief heterosexual interlude that came quite useful in attracting Duane. He never stood a chance against Star. I had Duane one drunken night. I lost interest in him the moment he came inside me and shook him off my cold body. I'm always cold now. I try to remember the time when I worried about Algebra tests and the rest. I miss that time. I miss being warm.

He caught my eye right away. Brown hair and cobalt blue eyes. My age I would guess, should I have remained human, though he could easily pass for someone in their mid-twenties. I sent Star to go get him. Like a good dog, she did. He was lonely, easy prey when you're a stranger in a new town trying to make friends, fit in and the rest of that shit. "People are strange when you're a stranger, faces look ugly, when you're alone…" the Lizard King said it best.

It was too easy, too quick. I lost myself in the blue eyes, he had eyes only for Star. My Star, Star of  David as those idiots that are my companions now would perhaps call her should they know what it is. I was an A student once. Back when the blood in my veins was warm and sunlight wouldn't reduce me to ash.

I tried my charm with him. Put my arm around his shoulder, kissed his cheek in drunken cheer, snuck in a grope or two. Marko and Paul exchanged knowing glances, Duane shrugged and Star looked hurt. Michael noticed nothing. Michael, how aptly named. Just like the angel.

The angel drank my rancid blood. I fucked with his mind, it's easy when you evolve into this creature of the night I now am. Works better with animals when your intellectual capacity is close to that of the three stooges aka Paul, Marko and Duane. I am capable of using my ability on humans. Star too though she wouldn't think of doing it, such a good girl she is still. Max surpasses me. Occasionally he uses it on some poor slob he wants to dine on.

What I'm trying to say is that as easily as I convinced Michael that he was eating maggots, I could have convinced him that I was the hottest thing he'd ever laid eyes on. I could have had him fucking me senseless just like that. What sort of well-hidden ethics stopped me? I'll never now. I do know that I tried my normal wiles on him. Even though I haven't looked at my reflection in over two years I know I'm still quite a catch.

My angel remained unimpressed. Oblivious. It hurt like hell, I must say. It made me want to rip Star's heart out and eat it. It made me want to scream and curse and go out to kill and maim. I simply curled up in a corner and wept. A little part of my being had been relieved that I still could cry.

In my dreams he holds me in his arms. I give up control and let him use me in every way, I revel in the pain and humiliation. I offer him my cold blood as he licks and scratches me all over and he drinks and drinks leaving me weak as a kitten. Empty.

I turned him into a bloodsucker but I guess faggot is too much. There must be an irony there somewhere. I still have a chance, I suppose. When he finally accepts what he has become he'll need me to learn to feed. For now he's still too attached to humanity. He's still someone's little boy not a face in a 'missing' poster. There never were posters for me. Mother died many years ago and Dad became Max's dinner two summers ago. I think Max regretted that decision. The alcohol in my old man's bloodstream must have given him indigestion.

It should never be about love with us. Not Max's hands stroking my hair, not Marko staring at me with longing in his eyes even as he lies in Paul's arms, not Star screaming my name as I take her sweet ass. And most of all, not this tightening I get in my chest the moment cobalt blue eyes meet mine, not that illusion of heat on my cheeks as though I could still blush when he speaks to me, not those dreams in which my angel makes me his.

Michael

He wasn't the head vampire after all. I dared imagine him as a victim, as much a victim as I had been. It was easier to do when he got his normal face again. Soft white skin and a pouty mouth, he looked so young. A dead boy in my living room. The sunlight coming in reduced the dead vampires to heaps of ash. Much easier to get rid of than a baby-faced friend. For he had been my friend. There were times when I'd felt that there was nothing I wouldn't do for him and he for me. It would have been so much easier if he'd simply been a monster.

Drunk one night he pressed his forehead against mine and told me I was special. Then he kissed my cheek, a big, playful smootch. For a second there I thought he had wanted to do something else, perhaps press his lips against mine, not at all playfully. For a second there I feared that it was what I'd have liked him to do.

Star and I are together now but it won't last. David is with us everywhere we go, everything we do. She told me once some of the things they'd done together. Things that would probably make the Marquis de Sade blush. She was stoned. In bed she called me David that night. It's alright. I nearly called her David too.

I wish people would stop dying their hair this solid white-blond. Everywhere I turn there seem to be Billy Idol look-alikes. My heart beats faster for a moment and then I remind myself that he's dead. I can't imagine him in the light of day so I guess I'm an even bigger idiot for seeing him all the time, everywhere I go.

One day I followed one of the look-alikes. He looked at me with a knowing smile. Slipped me his number with a wink. I didn't throw it away but I didn't call either. Perhaps I will call eventually. I'll make the stranger face the wall and I'll be stroking at the white-blond hair as I fuck him. Perhaps I'll call him David.

A/N The end… or is it? Well… David is dead so I guess it is… Might write more on the Lost Boys though if I feel that there are people out there reading. These are my not so subtle requests for reviews. I'll also take flames.


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